


Home

by mikachan



Category: Black Butler, Kuroshitsuji
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Drabble, Inspired by Poetry, M/M, Oneshot, PTSD, Sad, sebastian kinda has feelings about eating cels soul, spillingashes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 05:52:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5363840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mikachan/pseuds/mikachan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'This is where it all began. With a fire; an ethereal burst of light. This is where it dissolved into nothingness; a black mass of destruction, hatred and chaos. This is where the fire started. When the walls were enveloped in a shining red ember, full of life and death and the bodies of his parents. When flesh embodied flesh and that was all they were... because no one else in that manor was alive.</p><p>This was his home. But home had never meant a thing to him. For home was where you made it, and I suppose he made it in me. Because I felt him clawing at me. I heard his voice; whispered in my ear like petals falling onto snow. And I never quite stopped seeing his face when I looked in the mirror. I never quite stopped remembering the color of his eyes. For I was haunted by a ghost whom didn't even exist. Because this was his home. I was his home. For this is where he lived. And this is where he died.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Українська available: [Будинок](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371554) by [Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub/pseuds/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Дом](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6371677) by [Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub/pseuds/Frau_Anhelika_Rotenstaub)



This is where it all began. With a fire; an ethereal burst of light. This is where it dissolved into nothingness; a black mass of destruction, hatred and chaos. This is where the fire started. When the walls were enveloped in a shining red ember, full of life and death and the bodies of his parents. When flesh embodied flesh and that was all they were... because no one else in that manor was alive.

This is where the lock was picked. Until fingers were raw and bleeding and sore. Where those teary eyes and a rough, sore throat was carried off into the dark. This is where he remembered fear. When all was lost and his lungs would not take another breath of soiled air. And that feeling in his gut just wouldn't go away.

This is where he summoned evil. He gave up all hope and tossed his past aside until the rope ran out and it dragged him under the waves. This is where he grasped that clawed hand as tightly as he would've hung onto his Mother's side. This is where dark was light and ugly was beautiful and being frightened wasn't such a bad feeling, after all... because did he really look like someone who believed in heaven? Or perhaps he had given up trying to find it.

This is where all light faded from his black and white existence. When the colors melted into one, muddied black mass. And he remembered whom he was and whom he was supposed to be. And he knew that this was not it. He knew that he had come too far when that house was rebuilt into something that looked like the skeleton of his life. This is where he retired into fakery... until every last bit of peace was replaced with confusion and he sunk into the creature that smelled of cinnamon and clove.

This is where he decided he liked that smell. Especially when it was laced with honey and burnt cedar-wood. And it was all he could do to sleep within that warmth each night, until the sun rose the next day and the sheets beside him were cold again. This is where he learned the meaning of 'addiction'. For he was addicted to his scent; to the way in which he walked and breathed and feigned a heartbeat. He was addicted to the way the words 'death', 'revenge' and 'hatred' felt upon his tongue. And before he knew it, that muscle became heavy with grief.

This is where he needed to be saved. This is where he lived and breathed and was barely hanging onto a thread. For that thread was breaking quickly. And he had yet to know whether those crimson eyes and ivory skin would be waiting there to catch him when he fell. And then he fell.

This is where he was caught into that embrace. When lips met, then teeth gnashed and skin caressed blessed skin. This is where he fell into that trap. Then soon he couldn't get enough. He longed for that attention every hour of the day. And then he would be falling again; with lips pressed into his neck like the stars press into the sky... yet all the while he was being held. He had ben caught. But his savior had been falling for an eternity.

This is where he became the darkness... and everything outside of that circle of flames was wrong, and bad, and twisted and needed him to save them. And he saved them by ridding the streets of vermin like himself. Because this is where blood was spilled. And that blood, finally, was neither his own, nor his kin. Because the king would not fall as long as his throne would not rust.

This is where it did begin to rust. It was slow. And he did not realize it until kisses turned to bites and he nearly let a bullet fly right through his skull. He was barely hanging by a thread, again. And he knew the time was coming soon.

This is where he finally won. When he beat and depraved and killed and, in the end, snuffed out the flame that burnt his entire life into ash. This is where he felt nothing, for the loss was still there. It would always be there. And the scars were still raised upon his skin. His eyes were never dry if not for in that moment, because he had no more tears to cry and no more sadness to cause it because he was empty.

This is where he realized everything. That there was no going back. That there was no reason for anything. That he was still so, so small... and a hundred years to him was a millisecond in the universe's clock. He realized that his revenge... his life and sadness and loss and lust meant absolutely nothing. Because of course he wasn't the only one to be caught in a tragedy. But he was the only one to bring it to hell.

This is where he was lost again. He was damned and cursed and caught in a net of destruction where no sliver of light could reach him. Fear was his only reality, for he was ending. He was ended. He was gone with the next train, and this is why I tell you this story. Because I have never before felt regret . I have never felt a thing. But for that boy... I felt everything. I felt it seep into my bones. I felt sadness. I felt fear. I felt myself wavering over what could've happened. But this was it. This was all we had. This was all I had.

This was his home. But home had never meant a thing to him. For home was where you made it, and I suppose he made it in me. Because I felt him clawing at me. I heard his voice; whispered in my ear like petals falling onto snow. And I never quite stopped seeing his face when I looked in the mirror. I never quite stopped remembering the color of his eyes. For I was haunted by a ghost whom didn't even exist. Because this was his home. I was his home. For this is where he lived. And this is where he died.


End file.
